That's the job. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent.
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